The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1887-01-27

wicked tongues went wagging. He
was my best friend, and I loved him
like a ~brother-and all the more dearly
that he was her husband. Yet how
could / act otherwise than 1 did
when n day. urged on by these
wicked tongues, he rushed up to me
on the boulevard and struck me in
the face, calling me liar, traitor, cow
ard? 1t was done in the eyes of Paris,
and I was hot-blooded in those days.
1t was q ~provocation, a challenge. which
I was forced, as l thought then, to &C
cept. We fought next morning in the
dent-yes, that thrust of mine was an
accident-I shall always say so. He
ran upon my point. / could not help
myself. But o, the horror of that mo-
ment! The artist who painted that
portrait was one of those who took my
Paul home. He told me that she looked
thus when she saw, him as Z made him.
n III Inc, L WCuL u Hi III q
crazed man. 1 think it was my great
uncle, the Bishop of T., who first sug-
gested to me that, if any atonement for
my crime there could be, it would be in
the devotion and service of a lifetime.
1 took his advice, forI vas weary of the
world, passed through the ordeal of the
noviciate, and was ordained. My uncle
rpopo n Tho procbx,faro opd born 7
have lived and worked for thirty years.
humbly, obscurely, and penitently. >
have not atoned-no, no, I have not
atoned; but I sometimes think that Paul
knows all now, and-and, perhaps, has
forgiven me. In ever saw her again.
I never heard of her. Is she dead.
Did she marry again? Did she, as
some say she intended to do, retire to o
convent 1 do not know. 1 have
never ceased to love her, as I did then,
Loyalty and devoutly; not a. the womap
I had wanted to marry, but as the wife
| Of my friend, as my dear Paul's wife,"
1 said nothing. I felt sorry now to
have called forth this confession. The
quiet despair of this old man as he told
me the misery of his ruined life was. a
| poignant sorrow to the eye and to the
ear. When he had finished speaking
he sat with his hand covering his eyes.
1 fancy there were tears in them. We
were sitting thus in silence in the dark
ening room when the little maid came
running in.
Monsieur lie Cure, Monsieur lie
Cure!' she cried, "come quickly
Old Bette is dying. She calls for you"
80! do not say that" cried the Cure,
starting to his feet. DO not say that.
My old Bette! My faithful old servant!
| No, it can not be that after twenty years
of loyal service and sacrifice I am to
lose her now"
at is very certain, mon PEREZ" said
the trembling girl, ''that old Bette is
dying. She says SO herself, and I can
see that she is right, for she looks just
like la mere Manon did before she died.
And she begs Monsieur lie Cure to come
to her without delay"
81 come, I Gomez cried the old man
in tones of the deepest anguish. "But
a doctor, Jeanette, the doctor! Run
for him. o that is useless, of course.
He lives ten miles away. What shall
we do? What will become of us?"
81 have studied medicine" I said.
81 may be able to be of some assist
ance. If Monster lie Cure will permit,
l."
"Come, comel" he cried, clutching
me by the arm. sit is the blessing OF
Providence. Is there any thing you
want? It is disease of the heart. Nc
then come. But first, Jeanette, run
upstairs and see whether monsieur
can enter"
The girl had turned to obey when
through the silence of the house there
rung the awful notes of a dying
woman's voice.
"Raoul, Raoul! where are your Je
me meurs, mon ami"
1t was the voice of a high-born lady.
For what reason I know not 1 turned
toward the picture. It seemed the CRY
that should come from those lips. The
Cure had started like a man who is sud.
denly stabbed.
Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!" he cried.
"Whose voice is that?"
And with this cry he turned toward
the picture.
"Raoul, Raoul! You must come
quickly or it will be too late"
at is old Bette that is calling you
M. lie Cure" said Jeanette, pointing
to the room above. '.It is her voice, i,
it not?"
"Bette'sP" stammered the Cure, ''tht
old peasant woman'sP No, no, no! I
was Mireille's. But"
Meanwhile. Monsieur said Jean
nette, .sthe old woman dies"
81 CO." said the Cure.
1 did not follow him; l had some feel
ing that there would be something sol
emn-something sacred was to be re
vealed in this last interview between
the old Cure and his dying servant. :.
knew that, great as may be the devotion
and self-sacrifce of the man, the self
sacrifice and the devotion of the wo
man that loves him, or has loved him
can be im~measurably greater, and Ibe
lieved that the Cure would find Lou
that his lifelong penance had had ever
on this earth its passing great reward
and that the love of the woman he ha'
worshiped in his youth had been wit
him and around him, silent, watchful
all these years.
sit would have been a splendid de
votion," / said to myself as 1 made m,
way home, land one possible only il
i. a woman, to humble herself as he ha,
humbled himself-yet lower, to leav
! the boudoir of the woman of the w&tl'
; for the kitchen of a village presbyter
to put off the elegant toilet and t
put on the peasants gown, aye, an
more than all this, to live by his side
unknown to him, respecting his loyalt
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